


What You Call Civilisation

by silver_duchess



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek Into Darkness (2013), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Admiral Marcus is a canonical dick, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Khan!lock, Seriously guys just wake up John, Sherlock doesn't understand that what he's doing is a bit not good, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:30:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_duchess/pseuds/silver_duchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You and your people were cryofrozen and banished for crimes against humanity according to your former handler, Major James Moriarty,” Admiral Marcus waved his hand at the tablet that he had placed on the table between them, “That’s all my people could recover from your ship’s computers, anything to say for yourself?”</p><p>“Not really, Admiral,” the augment answered and though his tone was bland, his deep voice resonated with the undertone of something dangerous, “you read it in the records, it must be true.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Call Civilisation

**Author's Note:**

> “The more I see of what you call civilisation, the more highly I think of what you call savagery!”  
> ― Robert E. Howard, King Kull
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely LunaKyria

Unexpectedly, he awoke finishing his thought.

_‘- wonder when we’ll be woken. Oh, now. How odd.’_

The disorientation and grogginess that he’d been anticipating hit him next, a rush of the cryogenic preservation drugs being processed by his suddenly reactivated immune system. Attempting to sit, he realised that the covering on the tube hadn’t been fully released leaving him lying prone within the uncomfortable casing.

_‘Ah, that’s not right.’_

Straining his neck and turning his head, he found himself confronted with an older, sour faced man toting what he could only assume was the latest technology in hand-held weaponry. A gun from the future in his face, what a nice welcome back to the world of the living.

 “I am Admiral Marcus of Starfleet Command. Who are you and what is your purpose?”

He took in what he could see of the man – clean, well-kept uniform, stern face, aura of authority – and found no evidence to suggest that he wasn’t who he’d said. Though, considering he wasn’t even sure what year it was, his deductions could hardly be relied upon.

“I am Khan,” he answered. His title, not his name for this brave new world; he had no particular desire for this Admiral Marcus to know his true identity.  

“Khan,” the admiral repeated, “what is your purpose?”

Khan smirked, his lips spreading across his pale face as he lowered his head back down, forcing Marcus to lean over him to keep eye contact.

“My purpose? I’m a soldier – a commanding officer like you, Admiral. My purpose at its most basic is to lead my crew. We’ve been sleeping until we’re needed.”

“What do you mean ‘until you’re needed’?” the older man asked, still holding his weapon ready.

Sighing, Khan pointedly glanced down at his own prostrate form. “Really, Admiral, could we not talk in a slightly more… comfortable setting?”

Marcus’s faced became slightly more pinched.

“Very well,” he said eventually, “but don’t try anything, _Khan_ , we will not hesitate to use any force necessary to subdue you.”

“Indeed, Admiral.”

They allowed him out of the cryotube, the guns (he was thinking of the handheld devices as ‘guns’ for now as the social context seemed to indicate they were something of the like) of all six of the Admiral’s guards trained carefully on him as he climbed, a little shaky on his long disused legs, out of the now ancient thing. Khan could tell several of them thought it was overkill – one in fact was mostly keen to finish his shift and return to his wife and infant child – but Marcus appeared to be a cautious and somewhat paranoid man.  

 _‘Not wrongly so;  cautious’_ Khan mused with a smirk as he took in a sterile, white room filled with his comrades’ sleeping bodies, ‘ _but not nearly enough.’_

He was escorted to what appeared to be an interview room; marched in, sat down and cuffed to a table in the centre of the room. The only furniture was the single metallic table, bolted to the floor, and the rudimentary chair he was seated on, along with its empty partner directly across from him. The wall he was facing was made up of a floor to ceiling mirror, unsubtly informing any occupants that they were being watched.

They left him unattended, keying in several codes to lock the door behind them, apparently confident in their modern technology. Khan flexed his arms, discreetly checking the give of the handcuffs. He could hear movement behind the obvious one-way (he was absently surprised they were still used this far in the future, though he supposed the intimidation factor was half the purpose) and could pick out the distinctive stride of the admiral. With a lazy roll of his neck, Khan calculated where he was standing, estimated where Marcus’ eyes would be and smirked, staring as if he could see straight through the glass. He wasn’t too bad at intimidation himself.

Khan waited, half an hour he guessed, stare shifting to the guards keeping watch when he heard the object of his focus leave. His mind raced, _God_ he was so _bored._ There was very little to glean from the stark, sterile room he was being held in, and he found himself quite annoyed with the fact that he’d been given the opportunity to see the future and was currently stuck entertaining people who miraculously managed to be even duller than those of the past. His musings were interrupted when the admiral to whom he’d taken a particular disliking ostentatiously entered the room.

“Khan Noonien Singh, captain of a classified crew of augmented humans, elite warriors engineered to lead humanity into the future,” Marcus read from some sort of tablet as he sat opposite Khan. “You and your people were cryofrozen and banished for crimes against humanity according to your former handler, Major James Moriarty.”

Khan snarled at the name of the man he had once answered to, features contorting into a near animalistic expression of fury before quickly rearranging into his cold mask. Admiral Marcus appeared to be ignorant of the reaction as he merely continued speaking, waving his hand at the tablet that he had placed on the table between them, “That’s all my people could recover from your ship’s computers, anything to say for yourself?”

“Not really, Admiral _,_ ” the exposed augment answered and though his tone was bland, his deep voice resonated with the undertone of something dangerous, “you read it in the records, it _must_ be true.”

His response made Marcus eye him with further distrust, though Khan could see the unmistakable glint of greed in his gaze. The admiral looked at him and saw an opportunity.

“Well, given you’ve made no attempt to rebut these records, we have no choice but to consider you the savage they present. As such, I feel you can be of use to Starfleet.” He leant back in his chair, resting one ankle over the other knee as Khan merely stared at him, eyes sharp but face blank. “You see, in the nearly three-hundred years you’ve been asleep the governments of Earth merged into a peaceful alliance, creating a global government – a human state. The military was disbanded and funding was reallocated to exploration and engineering innovation. However, the time has come again for humanity to militarise. Our state lives in constant threat from the Klingons – a violent civilisation which has swept across the universe, invading many planets and putting Earth and its allies at risk. We need the ability to conquer them before they conquer us.”

It was all said with the showmanship of a great orator; he wasn’t merely telling the tale, he was selling a personal dream of his. Marcus also obviously enjoyed the feeling of superiority their situation granted him and Khan found himself looking forward to shattering the idiotic man’s illusions.

When Khan offered no response the man continued, “And that’s where you come in; your savagery and knowledge of war is perfect. You will design weapons and develop tactics for Starfleet to go to war.”

There was a beat of silence as Marcus waited for the augment’s response, which soon came in the clear and precise form of, “No.”

The admiral laughed, a dry and not particularly humorous sound. “Have you not taken in your situation, Khan? You would do well to cooperate with us.”

At this declaration, Khan merely smirked.

“My situation?” he asked, rising from the chair and pulling the handcuffs taught, carefully applying enough pressure to their weak points, breaking them in an impressive show of his preternatural strength. It did hurt somewhat, but he didn’t acknowledge it in front of Starfleet, “And what situation is that?”

 Marcus jumped up and moved backwards, looking genuinely alarmed and unable to quite believe what had happened. Unfortunately, however, he was quick to recover.

“You misunderstand me,” he said smugly, though he eyed the augment warily, a primal fear evident in his eyes, “I didn’t mean your captivity, Khan. I meant the fact that my officers have your crew. While you may be awake and capable of taking care of yourself,” he glanced pointedly at the destroyed restraints on the table, “they do not have the same ability. If you do not follow orders or if you harm any Starfleet officers it is their safety you’re jeopardising.”

In the admiral’s rapidly gaining confidence and expression of triumph, Khan knew that he had given himself away. Some of the icy coldness that filled him at the thought of any harm coming to his crew must have shown on his face, because Marcus took it as a sign of defeat.

“Yes, I thought that might convince you. Major Moriarty recorded that you were extremely loyal to your crew,” he said, as he slowly walked back to the table, gesturing for Khan to take his seat again. “Excellent, now let’s discuss your new role as a Starfleet engineer.”

So, it seemed that he would be given a new identity and forced to design secret weapons intended to militarise Starfleet. He would be Admiral Marcus’ personal attack dog and when the man said jump, he’d ask how high or else crew would suffer for it. And that was something he could not abide.

He may not be a hero, or even a particularly good man but Khan would do anything for his crew. For the men and women who put their faith and belief into him, he’d die for every one of them. It seemed that sentiment would be his downfall once again. Caring was a distinct disadvantage and sometimes he hated himself for it. Sometimes he hated _him_ for it. For making him care, making the vicious and cold Khan care. First for _him_ , then for the people around them, then passionately and wholly for his crew, his entire precious, fragile, sleeping crew. It was all _his_ fault and _he_ wasn’t even there to help and guide and protect Khan this time. No, this time he would have to do without his first mate.

Without John.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Captain John Watson. I’ll be your ship’s head surgeon and medical officer.”_

_“No, I think you’ll be First Mate. Yes, quite. Anderson is useless.”_

_“I-What? Sorry? We’ve just met, you know nothing about me.”_

_“Nonsense, Captain Watson. I know you’re a competent field surgeon and that you’ve suffered an injury that has caused you to be officially discharged. On any normal human it would render them permanently disabled in some way. However because you’re an augment it has, of course, healed almost completely and seeing as the military is loath to lose your skills, you now find yourself a member of my crew. You introduced yourself as ‘Captain’ with ease and confidence regardless of the fact you’re speaking to your new commanding officer, yet your record at a glance shows excellence in following orders. You’ve been in that awful skirmish in the middle-east where there’re no front lines and minimal chain-of-command and yet you stayed there for quite a while – you excel in taking control and staying calm in highly dangerous situations. All in all, an ideal first mate. Besides, I’m sure Hooper can handle the promotion.”_

_“You read my file.”_

_“Of course, you’re my new officer. You never can fully trust records, let alone ones kept by the military, but a look at you confirmed it. Tanned below the wrists and above the collar from your previous deployment, your hair has grown out slightly from an obvious military cut indicating a period away from active service and though you seem to be careful of your left arm when you remember it, there is no evidence of a debilitating injury as the official closure of your file would indicate. Though it merely read ‘bullet wound’, the evidence in front of me suggests it shattered the scapula of your dominant arm. Of course, the records end there but with your evident dexterity and instatement to my crew, you must be an augment. Like me.”_

_“I… That… That’s amazing. Truly, brilliant!”_

_“Ah, thank you. That’s not how people usually react.”_

_“What do people usually do?”_

_“They usually either go pale or mutter under their breath about genetically modified freaks.”_

_“Well, I’m a ‘freak’ too and I can’t see things and lay them out like that. It’s really amazing. But, seriously, why do you want me to be your first mate?”_

_“As I said, Captain Watson, you appear to be a very competent man, you have the qualities of a good first mate and, it appears, I find you quite agreeable – three things that can’t be said about the man currently occupying the position. Besides, he’s been planning on retiring to live with his mistress for some time now.”_

_“I, well… Okay then. First Mate John Watson, reporting for duty Sir.”_

_“Oh, yes. My name is Sherlock Holmes. Upon my ship, I am Khan.”_


End file.
